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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23139934">drown in the warmth of home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>crop circles [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Domestic Fluff, Farmer Ushijima Wakatoshi, Fluff, M/M, Sappy, Weather</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 09:07:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,379</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23139934</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wakatoshi, as far away from Takanobu’s home as he is, still manages to be his most reliable source of consistency.<br/>---<br/>Self-indulgent farm domesticity with a side of mild foreboding</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aone Takanobu/Ushijima Wakatoshi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>crop circles [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663327</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>drown in the warmth of home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i was disappointed to see how few fics this pairing had, so i’m here to spread an agenda</p><p>title from “nothing fades like the light” by orville peck</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Takanobu leans back in his chair, eyes closed, a gentle smile growing on his lips. The flight here was painful and cramped, the drive from the airport long and winding, but now he’s free. Free to soak in the countryside sun and lounge on a farmhouse porch. No cranes to operate, no scaffolding to climb on, and no cement to mix. Just air and sky… and this creaky rocking chair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The wind is different out here, unburdened by the roiling anxieties of the city. Crisper. Cleaner. And tinged with the blue-green-gold of the horizon, where leaves meet the sun and sky. It's so easy to breathe. Takanobu inhales slowly, and it smells of growth, contentment, wide open space. He's trying to imprint this exact moment in his memory, to come back to on hard days at work or when the city is just too suffocating. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(It won't work: this moment belongs to the land, not to him. But later, when he reaches into his memory in search of solace, he'll still have whispers of blue-green-gold.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The breeze carries the sweet sounds of birds and lively insects, a miniature orchestra performing for free to anyone who’ll listen. It’s tranquil and lovely. And far too quiet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a shame, Takanobu thinks, that he’s grown so used to constant noise. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The lack of car engines and jackhammers has set his ears ringing, so he reaches for the transistor radio by his feet and searches for a station. He settles on classical music: interesting enough to be enjoyable, ambient enough to fade into the background. The signal keeps fluctuating though, snippets of a news broadcast cutting in between the violin and piano.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...abnormal weather patterns...direction of winds…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...witness reports...strange lights…missing persons case...”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...sky over the farm...unexplained glow...circular designs…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The battle between symphony and current events becomes too much to bear, and Takanobu shuts the radio off. Instead, he focuses on the sounds that float to him through the kitchen window: running sink water, the click of cutlery, a refrigerator door opened and shut. It’s comforting and homey, and he allows himself a small smirk at the mental image of the man he knows is inside, bent over the kitchen sink built for someone half his height. The sound of water stops, replaced by footsteps, and Wakatoshi joins Takanobu on the porch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hope I remembered how you like your tea,” he says, handing him a cup.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It tastes perfect. And perfectly expected. Wakatoshi, as far away from Takanobu’s home as he is, still manages to be his most reliable source of consistency. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He drags his eyes away from the fields and over to Wakatoshi's face. It's strong and stable in profile, sun-weathered by years of farm work. It suits him, and so does the scruffy beard he's been growing over the past few weeks. It had been a surprise, alluded to over the phone but never outright mentioned. (An unpleasant one because it reminded Takanobu just how different things are now from the way they were in high school, pleasant because it gave Wakatoshi a decidedly welcoming aura, standing there in the airport arrivals terminal with his simple little sign.) It frames the farmer's face nicely, and brings out the content crinkles by his eyes when he smiles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And that's another thing. Wakatoshi smiles so much more now than when they were teenagers, or even young adults. He's still stiff and severe at times, navigating social situations with equal parts care and obliviousness. It's cute. It's</span>
  <em>
    <span> him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But now he's more relaxed and the rumbling baritone of his laugh comes more easily. And Takanobu honestly can’t complain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The wind is different,” Wakatoshi says, out of the blue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Takanobu can’t tell, city dweller that he is. For him, wind is a creature that slinks between highrises, tail between its legs. His mind’s eye offers him a glance of his childhood in the suburbs and his heart aches quietly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wakatoshi’s eyebrows are furrowed as he leans forward in his chair. “There’s something on it. Something wrong.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something on the wind. Takanobu thinks back to the radio broadcast he had been listening to. Strange wind patterns, mysterious lights in the sky, a missing person… and something about crop circles. He’s not sure whether bringing it up would incite any anxiety, so he refrains.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How do you know?” he asks instead. “The wind is so gentle, it’s a wonder you can feel any change.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can feel it in my bones,” Wakatoshi says, shaking his head slowly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Takanobu chuckles. “Ah, the farm house and rocking chairs are starting to make more sense now, old man.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That earns a quiet laugh from the “old man” himself before the two for them lapse back into a comfortable silence. The sky is strawberry-peach now, the once crisp horizon blurred as shadows creep across the landscape.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Takanobu says, “speaking of bones…” At that, Wakatoshi gives him a skeptical look, and he huffs out a laugh. “It’s nothing criminal, I promise. A week or so back, we found some while digging up a site. The member of my crew who found them had such high hopes, ready for someone to tell her she’d discovered a new dinosaur…” Takanobu smiles at the memory, trailing off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And?” Wakatoshi presses. “What did they turn out to be?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, the rest of the crew was convinced that they just belonged to some cat or dog. They were fragments, hard to identify. So the woman who found them, she took the pieces to one of her friends who studies archaeology. And based on the shape, they were human, apparently. But also not quite.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Explain…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, they weren’t actually bones. Turns out the building that was torn down before we arrived housed a lab, and a model skeleton must have gotten left behind.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wakatoshi hums, a small smile playing across his face. “So it would seem that even the bones in the city aren’t real.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Takanobu isn’t quite what he means by that, so he just nods in acknowledgement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was going to say this earlier,” Wakatoshi begins, scratching the back of his neck in a way that’s almost sheepish. “But I think you should come more often. The plants like you a lot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The plants…?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. They’ve been looking much more robust since you arrived. They’re happier. The one on the windowsill in the front room was drooping before you came.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Takanobu says, taken aback by Wakatoshi’s sincerity. “I’ll do my best.” A warmth spreads through his chest at the answering smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sky slowly grows darker, waves of indigo smothering the warm hues of sunset. Stars are sprinkled across it, twinkling eyes peering down from a place even more open and clear. Takanobu has never seen so many, and his eyes grow wide as he sweeps his gaze across the heavens. He senses Wakatoshi staring at him, and pointedly pretends not to notice, hoping not to be betrayed by a blush.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to start on dinner,” the farmer says, rising from his chair with a loud pop from both knees. “Come inside when you’re ready.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Takanobu nods, not yet willing to tear his eyes away from the sky.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something changes as soon as the farmer leaves the porch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The wind, still tranquil, has shifted directions. It carries something unidentifiable; a smell, a thought, a feeling. The radio, still turned off, begins to crackle. A strange light hovers between constellations, not a star but something else entirely. The miniature insect orchestra of late afternoon has gone silent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Takanobu is too lost in his thoughts to really register the change in atmosphere, and too conditioned by the city to realize how wrong the lack of cricket song truly is. Head spinning a little from gazing so intently at the sky, he leans back against the wall. After a minute or two, he becomes sure that he can hear Wakatoshi humming from inside. And is that a pop song? It’s so cute and so uncharacteristic of the tall, bearded man that Takanobu has to fight the urge to grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And between the stars and the tea and the music, it occurs to Takanobu that maybe he’s not as far from home as he thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe he’s closer than ever.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i have a second part planned with a little more plot and a new character, but it may take a bit while i work on bigger fics/projects. in the meantime u might enjoy some of my other writing :&gt;</p></blockquote></div></div>
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